


Pines! Pines! Pines!

by Eternallost



Series: Pines One Shots [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Bartenders, Boat Sex, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Dorks in Love, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fights, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Heiress, Hurt/Comfort, Las Vegas, Library Sex, Older Man/Younger Woman, One Shot Collection, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rating: M, Rating: PG13, Ratings: PG, Santa Kink, Sea Grunkles, Soul-Searching, Teen Romance, casino - Freeform, ddnmd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:21:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26984332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eternallost/pseuds/Eternallost
Summary: A bunch of one shots where you catch the eye of one Stan or another. Or both.
Relationships: Ford Pines/Reader, Stan Pines/Reader
Series: Pines One Shots [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2095641
Comments: 58
Kudos: 178





	1. Ford & the Librarian (M)

You were the new librarian in Gravity Falls. You’d just recently discovered the town from a _Help Wanted_ ad in the paper. You looked around your city apartment and decided you needed a change. You needed some quiet in the countryside. The drive was worth it since the scenery was unbeatable, and the job was simple yet satisfying.

Your mentor, Mrs. Hoover, was showing you around for your first day when you saw him. A man with a proper stance, tidy peppered hair, clothes like an investigator or explorer. It was the clothes that intrigued you first, to be honest. Aside from the fact that the library was mostly full of students doing research. Was he a professor?

“Who’s that?” You whispered.

“Oh,” Mrs. Hoover looked over her cat-eye glasses. “That one?” She smiled. “Why do you ask?” You could already tell she loved to gossip and resolved to not say too much.

“He just sort of stands out, is all.”

“Hm,” she drawled. “Mr. Pines. Our biggest customer. Checks out anything and everything. Although, he enjoys Science Fiction, mainly.”

“Pines,” you affirmed. He turned as if hearing your voice. That’s when you noticed the rugged planes of his face. You blushed, quickly moving on.

You didn’t see him again until a week later.

* * *

When the books were laid quietly on your desk, you looked up to see the mysterious Mr. Pines. He was attractive up close. Fairly tall with a nice build. Masculine features, intelligence behind his dark eyes. You must have been staring.

“Hello,” he gave a shy greeting with a soft smile.

Oh. He didn’t know he was hot. “Hello,” you moved to record the books in the system.

“You’re new here, aren’t you?” He reached into his pocket for his card. “I haven’t seen you around.”

“You’re right, Mr. Pines.” You smiled, “I actually started a week ago.”

He blinked, “Do you… know me?”

“It’s, um- here,” you pointed, “on your library card.”

“Of course,” he nodded.

You noticed how remarkably broad his hands looked as he took his card back. No wedding ring. Then, you counted. He had six fingers. You must have been staring again, because he slowly pulled up his sleeve around the last digit.

“I hope you won’t mind me saying…” you looked to his eyes, “I think it makes you uniquely handsome.”

He returned the look, confusedly, for a moment while you were internally screaming at yourself for any mistakes you made. Then, he collected his books. “Well, er, thank you. Good night.”

“Good night.”

You drank a lot that night.

* * *

“Hello again.”

You were organizing shelves. “Oh! Mr. Pines, welcome back.”

“Ford.”

“I’m sorry?”

“That’s my name. Please feel free to use it.” He helped you reach a book higher up on the shelf. “I’m afraid, I never got yours.”

You paused. “__________.”

He repeated your name softly. You’d be taking that memory to bed tonight. “___________, do you have any recommendations on new Science Fiction?”

“Hmm,” you tapped your chin, “We just got this series in that deals with travel through dimensions.”

“Intriguing.” He leaned forward. “Have you read it?”

“I have.”

“What’s the level of realism?” His excitement was cute.

“It’s a young adult novel, but it could be plausible. The science is there.”

“I see. Then, I’ll have to read it and get back to you.”

“Like our own little book club?” you laughed.

He was lost in thought for a moment as his eyes wandered over you, then he smiled, “I’d like that.”

* * *

Your discourse on the book was the highlight of your day. He was so witty and experienced, like he’d seen these worlds firsthand, new the technology. Critiqued it, even. The next time he visited, he would slip a book your way over the counter. You would read. You would talk. You’d slip a book in his coat pocket by the stacks. You would talk, and laugh, and speculate as the evenings grew late. The seasons changed. And so on.

Then, one day, you grew bold enough to hand him the _Kama Sutra_ at the back of the stacks on an empty, rainy autumn evening.

He looked it over once, twice. “_________,” you could hear the blush in his voice, “did you mean to give this to me?”

“I did,” you gaged his reaction. “Or, maybe, you’ve read it before?”

“I may have perused the contents.” He looked up, gripping the book like it was his last hold on the Earth. “Does this mean what I… think it means?”

“Tell me, Ford. What do you think it means?”

“That you would like to…”

“Yes.” You smiled.

“With me?” His voice held disbelief.

You placed a hand on his chest. “Very much.”

The book dropped onto the marble floor at the same time that his lips pressed against yours. The sound of the rain outside the large glass window returned to your ears as you opened your eyes to see him breathing heavy, pupils blown behind his glasses.

“Don’t stop,” you kissed him back.

“Perhaps we should go somewhere more private?” he paused.

“I’ve locked up for the night,” you grinned. “No one’s been in the last few hours anyway.”

“I see,” he kissed you once more. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

You looked him over. “Neither was I, really. They all fade away around you.”

“Can I touch you?” His voice was strained.

“Anywhere. Everywhere.”

To your surprise, his hands started on yours. When his fingers entwined with yours, you could see. He was observing your response to him, calculating.

“More,” you urged.

He smiled in response, moving his hands up your sleeves to your shoulders, under your jaw, eliciting shivers as he brought you close to kiss him.

“Can I touch you, too?”

“Please.”

You moved slowly, first removing his overcoat to discard on the floor. You could see his muscles through the sweater. His dark jeans fit nicely, the rigid fabric accentuating his bulge. You licked your lips before you looked to him and put your hands under his shirt. He flinched. You retracted your hands. “We don’t have to, if you’re not comfortable.”

“No, I…” he sighed. “It’s been so long.”

You kissed his cheek. “We can stop.”

“No,” his hand held yours. “I want it, _________. I want it so bad. _Please_ , don’t stop.”

You didn’t have to hear that twice. Your hands traveled up his skin, under his sweater, feeling the divots of his abs, the strength in his chest. Then, something unfamiliar. Bumps- scars. He’d been through something terrible. You would ask another night. For now, you wanted him to know he wasn’t in that dark place anymore. You brought him towards you, kissing him passionately enough to elicit a pleasant sound from his mouth. When you pulled back you unsnapped your bra under your shirt. “For now,” you breathed, “we can leave most of our clothes on.” You hiked up your skirt and removed your panties. “Except for the important parts,” you smiled. He nodded in awe, seeming more comfortable as he returned his attention to your nipples, straining against your blouse. You moaned as he played them in circles, twisting, tweaking, pressing- seeking the best response. When you couldn’t take any more, you reached forward, cupping his pants, running your thumb over the tip of him.

He curved forward into you, grinding into your hand, his gasps at your ear.

“Can I put you in my mouth?”

He leaned backwards, dazed, as if the phrase were impossible. Then, he nodded with a blush.

You moved his discarded coat under your knees, looking into his eyes as he looked down at you, hands resting on the stack behind him. You unbuckled his belt, leaving it in the loops. You unbuttoned his pants, unzipped them, and looked back up to him for affirmation. Then, you pulled down his boxer to free his hot and heavy cock. It was the most beautiful one you’d ever seen. Pink tip dripping with precum, just the right amount of thickness and length. It even smelled good. Just your breath on it was enough to make him shiver. Ford was sensitive. You would go slow. You ran your thumb along the underside of him, causing him to shake. He was like velvet. You kissed him lightly at the tip, sticking out your tongue to taste him. He let out a light noise. You took him in your mouth, and he groaned and spoke your name. While you were pleasuring him, you were also getting yourself off, fingers under your skirt, just the way you liked it until you were nice and ready. Then, you stood up.

He was startled to think that was the end of it, until you leaned against the end of the stack and raised your leg for him to see. “Take me,” you reached out for him, “please.”

“A-are you sure? I don’t have protection.”

“That’s fine, I’ve got us covered.”

He took himself in hand and poised at your entrance.

You kissed him. “And I’ve never been more sure in my life.” You held on to him for balance as he held one of your legs up and sheathed himself in you, causing you both to gasp. He moved in a slow and steady rhythm at first, to the rain outside, as you hiked up your blouse. He looked dreamily down at you, his mouth latching onto your nipple as he thrust inside of you, his noises of pleasure vibrating through your chest. You tilted your head back, letting him know just how much you liked it.

“I feel like I could cum, ___________,” he looked up at you. “But, not without you. Not without you.”

“I need your fingers, right here,” you directed. Again, he tried a number of tactics before gaining the response he desired. You felt yourself starting to tighten.

“I need you to cum with me, ___________,” his breath was labored. “I’m going to count down,” his fingers kept moving on your clit. “From five to one. And I need you to cum with me at one, is that all right?”

You nodded, “Yes- It feels like a can.”

“Five,” he thrust into you, “four,” he breathed, “three,” his fingers were heaven on you, “two,” he strained, “are you ready for me? Are you ready? Cum for me. Please.” he ground into you, “One.”

An ocean of bliss swept over you from behind closed eyes. His strong grip on your body kept you from falling to the floor, you felt weightless in his arms. He continued to pump into you, sweet sounds of release as the aftershocks prickled through your body. You both nearly slumped to the floor, uneager to disentangle yet doing so. Ford was a thing of beauty, seeing him recoup: breathing softly, lips swollen, eyes regaining their focus. He ran a hand through his hair after fixing his clothing. “That was… Wow.”

“Yeah,” you held his hand. “Wow.”

He looked to you innocently, “Can we do that again sometime?”

“Just wait until you see the book I have picked out for next week,” you teased.

He laughed and kissed your hand. “With bated breath.”


	2. Stan & the Bartender (T+)

He’d spent thirty years trying to get his brother back. Thirty damned long years trying to force his brain to think in a way he’d never been capable. Years of pretending to be someone he wasn’t. Of guilt. Of his parents confessing things not meant for his ears. Tears. Lies. Death.

Rebirth.

It was about time for a vacation. The _Stan o' War II_ was a return to the carefree dogma of childhood. Of bonding with his twin. Of being himself; whoever that was. He tried to remember who he’d been before Ford’s disappearance. A sham. And before that. A loner. He ran a hand through the hair he’d grown since their departure, in an effort to remember who he was before he’d let his brother slip through his fingers. He didn’t much like the man in the mirror as he tugged the red beanie on to his head. But, then again, he didn’t know him very well. After finding himself on good footing with his brother, it was time to try and find it with himself. To do the things that made him happy. Even if they weren’t exactly healthy. Or legal.

Stan stepped out of the head, or ships toilet. “Hey, Ford, what you up to?”

“Stanley!” His brother looked up from the small table excitedly. “I was just heading to the library to do some research on the sightings of sirens in the bay. It should take a few hours at least. Care to join me?”

“Nah,” he tugged on his jacket, “I think I’ll head to the pub.”

“Oh, all right. Have fun. Don’t drink too much.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grinned as he stepped down the gangplank with a wave. “Catch you later.” He’d gotten his sea legs, leading the dock to feel weird under his boots. A couple beers would remedy that. He wondered if any boxing was going on in town. Cigars. Clubs. Casinos. Ford had his forms of excitement; Stan had his own.

He could hear the pub over the horizon before he approached it. Live music, not bad but not good either. As he pressed the door open, he saw a small seemingly local crowd near the stage. Not his thing. He sallied up to the faded bar stools and asked for a beer. As he slipped it, he saw a cup of pens near the tap. He pocketed a few and began doodling on his napkin when his attempts at conversation struck out.

“You’re pretty good.”

He looked up over his shoulder, almost doing a double take. “O-oh.” He looked down at his work. “Thanks. I mean, not like I can do anything with it.”

You shrugged, “Isn’t the point of art just to create?”

“Still would be nice to get a stack of cash out of it.”

You laughed. “I hear that.”

He gave you a smile that tugged at your heart. He was cute. Glasses, peppery hair past his ears, rugged face, and a boxer’s body. His seafaring style intrigued you.

“I’m ___________. What’s your name?”

“Stan. Er, Stanley, if you’re fancy.”

“Well, Stanley, welcome to the Drunken Dolphin.”

He put an elbow on the bar. “Come here often?”

You stepped around to the service side, “I work here, so, yeah.”

“Ah,” he looked you over, “bartender. I see.” Paid to listen to your problems, bat the lashes a little extra for a tip. He didn’t want to unload on you. There wasn’t enough cash in his pocket. Maybe even the world. He finished off his beer and returned the glass to the counter with a thud.

You could see his change in attitude. Normally, it would be refreshing if customers didn’t hit on you, but... “Bartender second. Girl first. One that’s got her eyes on a certain guy.”

He glanced around.

You put your hand on his with a smile. “That’d be you, Stan.”

He gave a curious look from your hand to your face.

“I don’t often do this, but… I’m interested in a night of fun if you are.”

He was. “Tell me, sugar. Have you ever been on a boat?”

* * *

You walked hand in hand back to the harbor, feeling like Stan was a puppy dragging you along. You sped to catch up. “Something on your mind?”

“Yeah,” he grinned, “what your panties will look like on my floor.”

“Stan,” you paused under the streetlight.

He turned to look back at you with caution. “Too much?”

“Maybe. I mean, it feels like you’ve been reciting from a cheesy script or something.” You looked up, “Is that an act?”

He rubbed a hand over his stubble. “I ain’t even sure myself.” He sighed. “It’s been a while. Look, if you want to go, that’s fine. I won’t stop you. Heck, I probably even deserve it.”

“Hey,” you grasped his hand, leaning in to get him to look at you. “Why don’t we have a seat on this bench. I may be off the clock, but you can still tell me your story.”

He looked to you for a moment, thoughts forming behind his eyes. Then took a seat. “C’mere,” he slapped his thigh.

You sat, feeling the warm of his leg against the cool of the evening.

“Listen, kid. There’s a lot to unpack here and I… don’t want to do that tonight.”

You nodded. “I understand. What do you want?”

He kissed your neck. “To be myself.” Then lower, towards your shoulder. “Call It instinct, but this is the only way I know how.” He looked up, wary, “That okay with you?”

“That’s fine. Just tell me what you’d like,” you kissed his head, “how you’d like it.” Then his cheek. “And I’d be happy to provide.”

“Really?” His hand traveled up your arm. “You’d want that?”

“There’s something about you, Stan.” You admired the feel of him beneath you and his searching eyes. You felt safe, wanted. “Yeah. I would.”

He looked to your lips, then back at you. “Kiss me.”

You brought your lips to his, feeling the soft give against the rough stubble. He pulled you in towards him, deepening the kiss until it grew almost desperate, eliciting a sound of pleasure from you. You could feel him growing hard as you sat on his lap. Age would not be a problem. Neither would size, it seemed.

“Boat’s just at the edge of the dock,” he spoke against your lips.

You gave him one last kiss before standing. Then, held out your hand. “Let’s go.”


	3. Teen Stans (PG)

You were sitting on the swing at the beach park outside of the high school when you heard a scuffle. You squeezed your eyes shut at the sound of a punch and opened them to see two boys running off. One boy was gathering his books while another stood shaking his fist at the aggressors. You were going to stay out of it until the blood started running down his lip and his brother, no… it must have been his twin… started waving his hands in a panic. 

You stood and brushed off your jeans. “Pinch your nose,” you called.

The twins looked in your direction.

“Yeah, yeah,” came the teen’s gruff voice as he pinched his noise and tilted his head. “Ain’t my first fight, Miss Nosy.”

“I’m _________,” your voice was flat. “Nice to meet you as well.” You looked to the brother holding his knapsack. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Me?” He swallowed. “Yes, no need to worry. This is Stanley,” he gestured to his twin. “You can call me Ford. Nice to make your acquaintance, ____________.”

“Likewise, Ford.” You smiled. “Were you the one who got all the manners?”

He stifled a laugh as Stan stepped forward. “Har. Har. What’s it to you, anyway?”

“Well… I…” You looked back to the swing set. Things were rough at home. You didn’t want to go back. You doubted that anyone would notice if you didn’t. “Nothing, I guess.” You nodded. “I’ll just be on my way.” You turned to go sit for a while longer. 

“Wait,” Ford’s hand lingered on your shoulder. “It’s getting dark out, would you like us to walk you home?” Your eyes flicked to his six fingers, then his soft, spectacled eyes. Ah. That was why. 

You bit your lip. “No, I… I like the ocean. I think I’ll watch the waves for a while.”

Stan observed you in silence. Your heart sped as you wondered if he knew. 

“The ocean, huh? You, er, like boats?” He questioned.

You blinked back at him and let out a soft laugh, “Yes, I guess I do.”

He brought his twin close. “Ford and I are gonna sail one around the world someday.”

You smiled. He really loved his brother. At least they had each other. "That's sweet." It was nice to have someone to look out for you. A tear came unbidden, slipping as it reflected the setting sun.

The smile disappeared from Stan’s face; his brows furrowed as his mouth closed. Ford stepped forward to grasp your hand. “Were those Franklin boys bothering you too? They can be such a handful, I…”

“Must be the rain.” Stan spoke up.

“Rain?” His brother turned, confused. “But there was no forecast for showers tonight.” He held out his hand.

“Forecasters got it wrong. Felt a sprinkle hit my cheek, too.” His eyes looked to yours, seeking. “Was that it, _________?”

“Yeah,” you rubbed your eye. “Must have been rain.” 

Stan flashed a brief smile before addressing his brother. “I’m hungry. Want to grab something at the diner?”

“Oh,” Ford nodded, “Sure, Stanley.”

You dug your toes into the sand.

“Hey,” Stan leaned forward to catch your eye. “you coming?”

He was handsome close up. Electricity ran through your body, "Sure."


	4. Stan in Vegas (M)

You looked out onto the casino floor from the office above the slots. Your father was the owner and you were in line to take over.

“Have you learned your lesson, Mister Pines?”

The scam artist spit blood. “Stan.”

“Hm?” You turned from the blinking lights.

“Mister Pines was my dad.”

You looked him over. “And you’re old enough to be mine.”

A grin split his face. “Does that turn you on, princess?”

You swiftly walked towards him, placing your stiletto between his spread legs on the wooden chair. He didn’t flinch, but he looked down. Then back at your face.

“ _Don’t_ call me princess.”

The smile returned. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

You huffed and turned to sit on your desk. “You’ve messed with a very important family, you know that?”

He shrugged.

“Yet you seemed to have learned no lessons; paid no price.”

“You got yer money back. I’ll have a shiner in the morning.” He turned his face to show you. “That make you happy?”

“Not exactly,” you leaned forward. “But. With you tied up here, I could do anything I want.”

His tongue traveled over his teeth in contemplation. “I think I know what it is you wanna do.”

“What’s that?”

“From the way yer clenching your thighs, I’d say straddle my cock.”

You laughed and leaned back on the table, spreading your legs to give him a glimpse of what you didn’t have on under your club dress. His eyes volleyed to your face. That one caught him off guard.

“You play it tough, Stan,” you made a point of his name. “But my gut says you aren’t used to having things your way, now, are you?”

“I mean, I got my hands tied with a dangerously hot piece of ass hiking up her skirt. So, either it’s working out or I’ll be in a few dumpsters across town come morning.”

“What are your odds?”

“You tell me.”

You sauntered around his chair. “You know, it’s lonely at the top. My father can be a bit… _protective_.” You took a breath. “If you can satisfy me, I’ll let you go.”

“Sounds like my lucky night. And if I don’t?”

You smiled at him from atop your desk. “You really don’t want to know that one, do you?”

He gave a curt nod of understanding. “Untie me. Let’s go.”

You shook your head. “No.”

His face fell. “No? What do you mean no?”

“Your legs can move freely but your hands will remain tied behind your back. For my safety, of course. You understand.”

He gave a half smile. “That means I can get out of this chair, right?”

You returned the smile.

He stood, slipping his hands through the center. He was taller than you’d thought when your father’s goons were around.

“What’re you into?” His gaze traveled over your body. “Do I get any hints?”

You shook your head. “Can’t cheat the system twice in one night and live to tell about it.”

“We’ll see about that.” He leaned forward trailing kisses down your neck and collarbone. You moved towards his warmth. When his nose knocked your V-neck open you were surprised at the coolness of the room. That must have been it. You wouldn’t admit that it was him getting your nipples hard. His tongue circled your areola before his teeth and tongue lightly played with your nipple. You buried your noises in his suit shoulder.

“C’mon.” He kissed your other breast before he looked up at you. “If I can’t hear you, how do I know I’m doing a good job?”

“You’ll know.”

When he sank to his knees, he found out. His mouth nipped at your thighs, kissing upwards. His eyes locked with yours when his teeth caught the bottom of your dress, hiking it to expose you to the empty room. “Yer wet.” He sat back and licked his lips before looking up at you. “I want a taste.”

You gave a slight nod, moving on the table to make yourself more comfortable.

His broad, flat tongue traveled up your slit like it were melting ice cream. You shivered. His tongue alternated between pointed and flat around your clit as your breath grew heavier and your body felt heated. He pressed his face further into you, his tongue slipping between your folds. Your legs involuntarily trapped him there, but he didn’t seem to mind from his rumbling approval. You lost track of time as he played with you. Yet, you were left unsatisfied when he withdrew and wiped his face on his sleeve.

“That all you got?” Your voice came out husky.

“Just getting started, sweetheart.” He got on one knee. “I’m here to satisfy.” When he stood, you could see what tool he was going to use for the job. “If I can get yer help.”

“Ask nicely.”

He looked down, debating the magic word. Then his eyes met yours indignantly. “Please.”

You smiled. “Very good.” You unzipped and unbuttoned his pants, pulling down his boxers. His pants stayed precariously at his thighs.

“Up against the window,” he nodded.

“What?” You blinked.

“They can’t see you. Right? Tinted glass.”

“Right,” you drawled.

“Either the glass is going to play with your nipples, or you can free my hands and I will.”

You bit your lip in contemplation. “The glass.”

His eyes smoldered on you. “Yer loss.”

You walked over, pressing your bare breasts against the cool glass. You felt him lick your entrance from behind before standing. “You got a rubber?”

“I’m on the pill.”

“ _Fuck_ , yer gonna make this hard for me, aren’t you? You ready?”

You nodded as he slid in slowly. He was a wide heat pulsing at your entrance, tightening your walls.

“Easy,” he purred in your ear, “I don’t want you to come too fast. Let’s have some fun.”

You were about to object as he filled you completely. You felt perfectly stretched, letting out an appreciative moan.

“That’s it.” He kissed the back of your neck, his breath hot in your hair and the shell of your hair. “God, you feel so good.” He gave a few shallow thrusts, allowing your nipples to brush against the glass. “I wish they could see out there. Want them to see your pussy dripping on my cock. To see your pretty face glazed over with lust. Yer perfect tits.”

Your breath came heavy with each new sensation.

“ _God._ I want to see you splayed out in front of me.”

He pulled out and you whimpered.

“Lay on the desk.”

You complied.

He looked you over. “You make me so hard, you see that?” You glanced at his perfect cock before his lips were on yours, soft, then rough. He tasted of cigars, blood, booze, and yourself when he entered you again with ease. He ground his hips against yours, slanted over you, between your legs. His weight brought sparks to your clit. “You like that?” He breathed in response to your sounds. “You sure you don’t want me to use my hands… I could do so much more… _So much_.”

You pulled his tie so he was close to your face. “Fuck me.”

“Yer the boss,” he kissed you, pounding into you while keeping his weight in place. His mouth tugged at your nipple bringing you towards the edge. “That’s it, baby. Come on my cock. I want it. _I want it._ _Give it to me_.” His mouth returned to your nipples rumbling each time you tightened around him. Your head rolled back as you senselessly spoke your orgasm. “Oh, _fuck,_ ” he struggled, “Are you satisfied, baby? _Are you satisfied?_ Because I won’t stop fucking this cunt until you say so.”

“Cum for me Stan,” you grasped him around the neck.

His body met yours. “Not until you say it.”

“mmm... _Yes!_ ” You cried.

He folded into you, pumping his completion with a deep moan.

You stayed in that scene for a moment, the silence of catching breath, before you added, “For now.”

He gave a laugh.

But, you knew best of all what happened in Vegas stayed there. You wistfully watched him rub his wrists as he walked out the casino doors.


	5. Ford at Christmas (PG)

You were dressed as an elf sitting inside the shack made up to look like Santa’s workshop next to the lines of lights and Christmas trees. The weather was nippy, especially in the spandex stripes that they wouldn’t let you cover up. A man with peppery hair and glasses approached. He had a trench coat and sweater that made him look cozy despite the flurries in the air. His cheeks and nose were rosy in the winter air. He had a look on his face that was almost… lost.

“Good evening, Sir,” you approached, your breath visible in the glow of the lights. “Are you interested in a wreath or a tree?”

“Hm?” He looked to you almost as if he thought you were an elf, “No, I… Well, I just wanted to take a look around. You see… This is my first Christmas in a while.”

“Ah.” You gave a nod of understanding, even if you didn’t. You wanted to ask but missing out on the holiday sounded like deep stuff.

“Well, if you’re interested, I love pines and we have-”

He gave a soft laugh.

He had a nice smile. You gave him an inquiring look.

“Well, you see…” He straightened his glasses, “My last name is Pines.”

 _“Oh!”_ You put a hand up over your mouth to hide your grin. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. It’s the truth isn’t it?”

You looked to his soft eyes. It could be. Someday.

“Your hands…” He reached out for your fingertips, turning your hands over in clinical examination. “They’re turning blue.” He looked to you. “Aren’t you cold?”

“…A little,” his hands were big. And warm. You looked to each other at the same time.

“Here,” he reached into his pocket and withdrew some mittens.

It looked like someone had knitted them with care. _A wife?_

“Courtesy of my niece,” he answered your unspoken question. “I’m sure she would love you to have them. I have several pairs.”

“She’s talented.” You slipped them on. “Give her my thanks.”

He nodded.

“I wish I could give you something. Oh! Do you like hot chocolate?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

You placed your arm in his as the snow fell heavier.

The shack was small but warm, the heater in the corner rattled on as you poured the beverage into a Styrofoam cup and handed it to him.

“Thank you.” He blew the steam off the top. He shrugged off his coat in the added heat, allowing you to see his musculature under the fitted sweater.

You sputtered on your chocolate, “…Hot,” you added meekly in justification.

He smiled at you, sipping in silence.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

“Me?” He looked up, “No. My brother and I are on an ocean voyage. We’re only in this town for a little while.”

“Oh,” you glanced into the beverage, then at his face in alarm. “Then that means you won’t get a tree!”

He laughed, “Probably not. But, it’s nice to look. Isn’t it?”

“Wait!” You instructed, “I have just the thing.” You had a small, potted Norfolk pine in the back. “Here,” you handed to him, “a pine for a Pines,” you grinned.

“Thank you,” he smiled and accepted your gift. “I’m Ford, by the way. Your name would be?”

“___________.” You gave yours.

He repeated it sweetly. “It’s always a pleasure to make an elf’s acquaintance.”

You laughed. He was only here for a short time, drifting like the snow. Now or never. “It’s always a pleasure to make a handsome man’s acquaintance.”

He blinked at you, then looked around. “Me?” he pointed to himself.

You nodded. “Yes. Aren’t you used to hearing that?”

“No,” he shook his head, “not really.”

“Should I say it again?”

He looked to you with rosy cheeks, “Only if you mean it.”

“You’re handsome.” You moved closer. “Ford?”

“Hm?” He blinked.

“Do you believe in superstitions?”

“I... I’ve done a lot of research on the subject.”

“Really?”

“I have.”

“What do your sources say about mistletoe?”

The blush spread to his ears as he looked at the plant hanging above his head. “Well,” he stalled as he placed the pine on the foldable seat. “research has shown that I should thoroughly and completely kiss you."

You searched his eyes, “Is that so?”

“You can’t argue with science.” He placed his hands delicately on your face. “I’m afraid we have to comply.”

“I suppose so,” your eyes drifted closed as his lips softly met yours.


	6. Stan Claus (M)

You worked at the Mystery Shack. Times were slow in the winter when the tourist stream dried up. As of now, you were the only employee aside from your boss, an older man with unique charms and quirks. Half of the reason you expected he hired you was to stare at your ass. That was fine. You’d stare at his. Although there was some banter, this was largely left unsaid.

Until that December morning when he rounded the corner in red. You nearly spit out your coffee. So that’s why he’d grown in the stubble. _Damn._ It was like Santa dumped Mrs. Claus and found himself. The boots must have been real leather. The belt too. Wait a minute... Did you have a Santa kink, or was it just him?

He raised a brow behind his glasses and held out his gloved hands. “Whaddya think?”

“Where’s the Scrooge outfit?” You took a lick of a candy cane. Your breakfast.

“Har. Har.” He leaned over the counter at you. “That’s no way to get a holiday bonus.”

You swallowed hotly. “Holiday bonus?” You made a point of looking him over. “How big?”

His tongue traveled across his teeth. “Sizable. But I only hand it out to those who deserve it.”

Oh, you’d play. “I-”

_**“Santa!”** _

You both froze as you looked towards the door. One of the local kids. What was his name, again? Soos. He often bought the penny candy at the register.

You smiled, “Go on, Santa.”

Stan made a show of laughing and grabbing his stomach before taking a seat on a chair surrounded by piles of cotton balls that were meant to be snow. To the kid it must have been the North Pole. So cute; you wished you had a camera.

Stan was good with kids. He’d just learned of the birth of his niece and nephew. He was out of town with them for a while. Every chance he got he’d swipe the photo out of his wallet and point at their dimples. It tugged at your heart.

He was stingy. And stubborn. And an old bachelor. _And yet…_

“A tool set, kid, aren’t you too young?”

“Mister Pines said I could help him out one day! I gotta start training, Santa!”

Stan laughed through his nose. “Sure.” He tussled Soos’ locks. “I know I, er, Mister Pines, will appreciate the help.” He reached into a bag behind the chair and grabbed a loaf of bread. “Take this to yer Abuelita. She left it here last time.”

“Thanks, Santa! Silly Abuelita,” He laughed, “always leaving things here.” He stepped down off Stan’s lap and waved in your direction. “Bye, __________!”

“Bye, Soos,” you grinned. “See you again soon.” You looked to Stan. “She left a loaf of bread? Really?”

“Yeah,” He shrugged. “Lady grocery shops before stopping by. Annoying as hell the shit I find left on the shelves.”

“Mmhmm.” You casually locked the door.

“Um, ___________?” His gravelly voice questioned.

You turned, “Mind if I tell you my Christmas list, Santa?”

Although caught off guard, he regained composure and slapped his sturdy thigh. “Have a seat.”

You sat as his gaze traveled up your body. “I’ve wanted somebody for a while now. Do you think you can make that come true?”

“I dunno.” Stan stroked his stubble. “Depends on the guy.”

Your heart was in your throat. “ _Stan Pines_ ,” fell from your lips.

“Hm,” he let out a noise of contemplation. “Have you been a good girl this year?”

“I think of him when I’m sleeping, and when I’m awake. I think he knows if I’ve been bad or good. I mean, doesn’t he, Santa?”

He pulled your other leg over, so you were straddling him in your jeans. You could feel his heat through the fabric and it was making you dizzy. His mouth was inches from yours. “Why don’t you show me?”

You pressed your lips to his, earning a sound of approval you could feel through your hands on his chest. His mouth ran up and down the column of your neck. “I saw you with that candy stick in yer mouth and I got jealous.”

“Mm,” you laughed at the tickling sensation of his tongue on your collar bone. “You don’t have to be.” You sank to your knees, looking up at him as you undid the large belt. “You want this?”

He bit his lip, examining you carefully before nodding his head. As you freed him from his pants and boxers you salivated at the rigid sight of him. He was hot in your hands, thick with a bead of precum at his rosy tip. When you brought your tongue to it, you watched him breathe out, his pupils blown. He closed his eyes with a shiver when you ran your tongue down the length of him and sucked on his balls. It wasn’t long before he was eagerly fucking your mouth, his gloved hands sweetly pulling your hair back. “That’s it. What a good girl you are,” he crooned. “Do you want me to blow this hot load in yer mouth or do you want me to fuck your sweet pussy?”

You sat back on your boots and wiped your mouth. “I want you to take me on the counter.”

He growled in approval, rummaging through the drawers behind it as he withdrew a condom and tore it with his teeth, rolling it on before he beckoned you behind the register. He kissed the back of your neck as you stepped out of your jeans and underwear and he teased your opening. “Every time you stand here I want you to imagine this,” he entered you slowly as you clutched the counter for support. You let out a breath as he sheathed himself in you.

“Trust me,” you spoke as he thrust, “I already have.”

He moaned his approval as he picked up speed, his gloved hands reaching under your shirt and bra to toy with your nipples, “That’s my girl.”

His strong arms lifted you up onto the counter and entered you again, his tongue hot in your mouth, his hands lifting your shirt and tugging your bra to expose your breasts. You voiced your enjoyment as he teased your nipples.

His thrusts became shallow as he sunk to his knees and placed his mouth on your clit, expertly bringing you pleasure with gentle pressure. “Stan!” you tangled your hand in his hair as the other remained on the counter to stabilize you. The vibrations of his moans when through you as he stroked himself to completion. The sight of him cumming on his knees with his mouth on you brought you over the edge as you gripped with your hands and thighs, toes curling and stars behind your eyes.

Your body went limp as you struggled to support yourself, head back, catching your breath. You looked down to see Stan with a cocky grin on his face, feeling the last vestiges of what you had shared.

Christmas came early, and you hoped it would come all year long.


	7. Ford & Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons (G)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idea prompted by erasederaser

“Hey, Stan!” You held up the board for your boss on a slow day, “Want to play Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons?”

“That? For fun?” Stan grinned. “Oh boy, wait ‘til Ford gets a load of you. Hey Sixer!” He called towards the kitchen, “Get in here!”

You’d never met the elusive twin before. He was always hard at work in the basement. Or grabbing a mug of tea.

“Stanley,” Ford popped out from the kitchen, “I’m right on the precipice of…” He looked at your hands then up to your face. He broke into a smile. “Is that Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons?”

“Um, yeah.” You felt kind of nervous seeing him so interested. “Do you want to play?”

“You know I do. I had no idea you were a player, ____________.” He looked out the window. “It’s a nice day outside. Want to play on the porch? Would you like some tea? I just put the kettle on.”

“Sure!” You nodded.

“Don’t take too long,” Stan gave you a wink. “I ain’t paying you for this. Literally. Soos! You’re up at the register.”

* * *

You sat and drank your tea as the petals fell across the lawn on a nice spring afternoon: so many that they looked like snow. The sun warmed your socked feet as you laid out your paper and plan of attack.

Ford tapped his pencil against his chin, pointing it at your work. “Aren’t elves not allowed to travel in caves?”

“Hey!” You put your hand protectively over the penciling. “No peeking.”

“Sorry,” he smiled, “Just curious about your plan of attack.”

“Well. If you must know, there’s a loophole that says they can while traveling with a mage.”

He leaned forward in challenge, “Only if that mage is carrying the _Sword of Sight_.”

“Or on the night of the full moon,” you emphasized.

“Which is due tomorrow.”

“Except it will come tonight after my _Change of Winds Card_. Check my work, page 273! **Boom**!”

You both caught your breath at the heated argument and a smile cracked your serious faces. Then you were laughing.

He wiped a tear, “You really know your stuff, I’m impressed. We didn’t have that card in my day. Which edition?”

“Number Ten.”

His jawed dropped. “They’ve had ten editions?!” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I really am old.”

You laughed and placed your hand on his. “You really aren’t.”

He looked from his hand to your face, a faint blush marking his features. You coughed and withdrew your fingers in an attempt to clear the awkward air.

He brushed a hand through his hair and stared at the woods. You heard the birds in the silence.

His voice came quiet, “I have an infinity sided dice.”

 _“What?!”_ You squealed.

“I thought you would appreciate that,” he smiled.

“Of course I would! Can we use it to play, Ford? _Can we?_ ”

He laughed, “No, no. Once is quite frankly enough.”

“Wow,” you breathed, “that must have been some adventure.”

“It sure was,” he nodded. “Gave me some ideas for my attack this round.”

“What?” You gasped, “You cheater! Let me see your notes.”

“Only if you can reach them.” He held them aloft over your head.

You gave a swipe as he moved back. He was fast.

You leaned forward.

He stood.

And soon you were chasing him across the lawn.

* * *

Stan sipped his coffee and looked out the kitchen window, contented.


	8. Snowed in with Stan (T)

You looked out the window as the snowflakes drifted down, large and fluffy. It must have been over an inch on the ground already. The storm had come early this year, leaving you unprepared. Maybe it was time to leave your job at the Shack, jump in your station wagon, and head for home.

“Stan?” You looked around to ask your boss if you could beat the weather. “Stan?” You looked in the kitchen and the family room, but he was nowhere to be found. Either you could head out, or you’d be snowed in. You bit your lip. Not that that would be a bad scenario. You’d kind of had a crush on him for a while now. Though you had no idea how he felt, he was a flirt with everybody. He probably wouldn’t be interested and kick you out if you asked to stay. You looked out the window once more and resigned yourself to tell him you were leaving whenever he chose to appear.

It was about an hour later when you heard him coming up from the basement.

“Stan!” You called nervously.

His first words upon entering the room were, “ _Woah_ , what the hell?”

The sea of white now stretched up to the windows. “I tried to find you to tell you, but, I think I should head out.”

He seemed to mull it over, whether out of concern for you or profits you did not know. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess yer right.”

As you both opened the front door, you realized your salt on the walk did little to clear the path.

“Shit,” he cussed under his breath and rubbed his neck. “Listen, even if we could get to yer car, that thing would never make it over the unpaved roads.”

You cringed in realization. Your options were out the window.

“I mean… You want to see if it starts? We could call Mister Corduroy; he’s got that plow and-”

“No.” You placed your hand on Stan’s arm. “No, you’re right. I’d rather stay here, if that’s all right with you.”

“Sure, kid.” He shrugged, “No skin off my nose.”

As you walked back inside, you flipped the sign to ‘Closed.’

* * *

You rummaged through the fridge; Stan wasn’t much to keep house.

“Woulda ordered take out, but, you know,” he made light.

“That’s fine.” You turned, “Got any spaghetti?”

“That or instant mac and cheese, the dinner of champions.”

You nodded.

He grinned and popped two in the microwave.

* * *

As you entered the living room, Stan undid his tie and unbuttoned his shirt to reveal a tank and chain. He hung up his suit jacket and dropped his girdle. He then looked to your surprised face. “Yer lucky this is all I’m taking off after a long day.” He kicked his shoes towards the door.

You wondered how lucky as you sat on an ottoman and he sat on the couch. You had the remote, surfing past _The Duchess Approves_. “I used to love that one.”

“You did?” Stan questioned. “We could watch it. I don’t mind.”

“Stan,” you laughed over your fork of hot mac and cheese, “are you saying you’re into period romance?”

“Nah, of course not. But, I mean, if there’s nothing else on…”

“All right,” you smiled and settled on the show as you finished your dinner in comfortable silence. You leaned forward as the Duchess was about to challenge the Duke. The lights flickered. You held your breath. Then, the TV crackled and died.

“Damn!” Stan slammed his fist on the arm of his chair. “Hold on,” he stood, “I’ll go grab the candles.”

“Does this happen a lot?”

“Old house,” he riffled through the hall closet with a small flashlight in his mouth, “lots of quirks living in the woods. Don’t know when the power will be back on, but it should be tonight or early morning.”

“Oh. Well at least it doesn’t affect the heat.”

“It does.” Stan placed some candles on a side table and dinosaur skull. “Electric unit.”

It was your turn to curse.

* * *

You were reading a book you brought for break time, and Stan was scribbling on a pad of paper, as the chill crept into your bones. You started to shiver in the lack of heat. He got up. You flipped the page. When he came back you noted the large comforter in his hands. It must have been from his bed.

“C’mon, kid,” he nodded in the direction of the couch, “no sense in us freezing to death.”

“But there’s only room for one on the sofa, maybe two if we squeeze.”

He took a seat and opened his legs to allow you a space, “Where do you think the heat is coming from?”

“Oh,” you blushed as you settled between them and felt the warmth of his stomach and chest on your back.

“You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not at all,” you sighed as you nestled under the blanket that smelled of him, placing his hands around your waist to afford yourself more warmth. You looked back, “Do you?”

“With you? Not a bit,” his chest rumbled at your back, his breath in your hair as he pulled you closer against him, dropping his head into the crook of your neck. His legs comfortably found yours. Stan was a good snuggler. “What you reading?”

“Just a series I’ve been into lately.”

“Ah. Mind if I listen?”

“You… want me to read out loud?”

“Yeah. Cover looks good. TV’s out. Plus, yer voice is nice.”

“You know what they say about judging a book.” You blinked. “Really? You like my voice?”

“That weird?” He leaned back.

“No,” you smiled. “I like yours, too.”

You felt him laugh. “Thanks, kid. Comes from a lifetime of livin’.”

He pulled the blankets up around you as you started on your current page.


	9. Sailing Stans (PG)

Your family owned a fish market near harbor. You helped out on the docks and running the store. On your shift one weekend, rugged twin brothers brought a fish the likes you’d never seen before: twice your size! They smiled at the amazement on your face. You listened to the fishermen’s tale of the unusual catch with fascination. Over tea for some and alcohol for others, you told them your stories of growing up in a harbor town. You felt a stirring in your core that night. Though you weren’t quite sure which one it was stirring for!

It would seem that the brothers felt the same as you enthusiastically met their unexpected return days later.

“Stan! Ford! What are you doing here? I thought you were out to sea for another month.”

They looked to one another and Ford ran a hand through his hair.

Stan stepped forward. “Listen, ________. Ever heard that song about Brandy? Well, she ain’t got nothing on you. The sea can wait.”

Your heart leapt. “Stan, I…”

“He’s not the only one,” Ford spoke from further back on the boat, “that feels that way.” He came to stand beside his brother. “We just wanted to survey your preference. That is… If you have a preference.” He smiled softly.

They were two of your favorite flavors. You weren’t sure you could choose. “I,” you looked between them, “I’m not sure.”

Stan put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Told you we were reading the mood wrong.”

“No!” you raised your hands, “On the contrary. I’m very interested. You’re both attractive and fun to be around. But, I hardly know you or who I would be more compatible with.”

Stan looked to you and grinned. “That all?”

Ford straightened his glasses. “I just so happen to have crafted a set of questions to address your concerns.”

“Speed dating,” Stan affirmed.

“I see,” you laughed. “Well, I’m game if you are.”

* * *

You boarded the ship and took a look at the question cards in the light of the cabin. It was cozy and inviting and smelled of cedar. “I’ll go back and forth between you. Does that sound okay?”

Stan snickered. “Yeah it does.”

Ford tapped him in the back of the head with a book. “Sounds perfect, _________.”

You cleared your throat. “Ford, what would you take with you to a deserted island?”

“Well, seeing as I’ve ventured somewhere similar, I’d take regenerating provisions and the works of J. R. R. Tolkien.”

You nodded. “I’m a fan of his as well.”

Ford recited some Elvish and you blushed. A dork after your own heart.

“All right, my turn!” Stan was feeling competitive.

“Stan, if you had to be someone else for a day, who would you be and why?”

His smile was replaced by a strangely solemn look. “Er…”

His brother clasped his back. “Another question, if you please.”

“Sure. If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?”

“I’m already here.” He spread out his arms. “I mean, that or Vegas.”

“Really? I’ve never been.”

“There’s lots I could teach ya. It’s all in the wrist,” he winked.

_Was in hot in here?_

“Ford, If you could invite anyone, dead or alive, to dinner, who would it be?”

“I… Never again,” Ford shook his head.

“Yeah. I met some of yer dinner pals last summer. Give him another question!”

“Uh… Ford, what time in history would you have liked to be born in and why?”

“The future would certainly be interesting. But the past has so many memorable figures. Why chose a birth year when we can visit both right now? I’ve got the-“

“Okay!” Stan leaned forward at the circular table. “My turn.”

Your mind was reeling. _Did… Did Ford master time travel?_ “Um, Stan, if you were given $1,000 tomorrow, what would you spend it on?

“You. Me. A fancy hotel. Best food and bubbly, with a tub full of-“

“Ahem,” Ford coughed. “I think she’s heard enough.” He looked to you, curiously. “Have you heard enough?”

You took a moment to look at their shining eyes and sighed. “I haven’t. And I can’t disappoint either one of you. You’re both a mystery, you know that? And I want to read both of your books. But that would be selfish on my part.” You stood. “So, it’s better for me to leave now.”

_“Wait.”_

You looked down to see six fingers on one wrist and five on the other.

“To be honest, we were expecting something like that.”

You blinked.

“If a few questions aren’t enough- what would you say to one week?”

“One week?” You breathed.

“We can be selfish, too." Stan grinned. "Put in for vacation and sail with us for a week.”

"I..." You flipped over the final card.

> What’s the most reckless thing you’ve ever done?

“Sounds fair,” you closed your eyes and smiled.


End file.
